


Reaching Through the Cracks

by sass_bot



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: 'Morgan really went back to her room and said Alexa play treat you better by shawn mendez', (ty mae for summarizing it so succinctly), F/F, Female Detective/Ava du Mortain (Implied), Light Angst, Love Triangles, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:33:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28090089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sass_bot/pseuds/sass_bot
Summary: Morgan and Nayzak are friends… of a sort. Of course, she cares about the human. Nothing to overthink.// based on a prompt by AlphaBanana -- Originally posted on Tumblr Dec 3rd, 2020 //
Relationships: Female Detective/Morgan (The Wayhaven Chronicles)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Reaching Through the Cracks

**Author's Note:**

> the document name for this is called "morgan realizing she has—emotions.docx"

It’s unbearable. And it’s really hard to say why.

The room is dark, the blue glow of the television casting shadows over their faces—images dancing in those big hazel eyes, half hidden by her bubblegum pink bangs. Her favorite movie is on—something silly about flying children and fairies—Morgan isn’t really paying attention, steel-grey eyes, caught in a trance, lazily watching Nayzak’s eyelashes as they go up and down.

She’s sitting on the far end of the sofa, leaning against the arm—the space between them feels so much different—thick, viscous, heavy, like an ocean of tar.

 _Ava should be here_.

The thought drills into her skull. She clenches her fists around the large colorful cushion in her lap. But she’s not. She’s never there when she needs to be.

Morgan and Nayzak are friends… of a sort. Of course, she cares about the human. She’s not unpleasant to be around. She’s like a fuzzy sweater, the sound of a fireplace crackling, the scent of a distant memory, the lull of your mind as you gaze up into the sky, eyes unfocused, mind clear.

And what was once a clear blue sky on a spring day has been soured—the chill rushes in before Morgan can fully register it happening, icy rain biting into her skin like needles. The cold paralyzes her where she lays, her heart pounding so hard she feels like she’s going to die.

It’s hard not to conjure up images of Nayzak, lips red and swollen, eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, cheeks wet with tears. They hound Morgan, like a hall of mirrors she cannot escape from, each mirror a nightmare—those eyes dull with resignation, voice far away and quiet, her touch hesitant and trembling. It’s like a screaming in her ear—or maybe she’s the one who’s been screaming—screaming into the eye of the storm until her throat hurts. It’s so loud she can hardly stand it.

Nayzak alone. Nayzak wandering, lost, scared, in the labyrinthine mess of Ava’s emotions. Tangled in a mess of ropes like a trapped animal, hummingbird heart fluttering in fear. Curling in on herself rather than lift the net off herself. She won’t reach out for help—won’t reach out for Morgan’s hand right there, close enough to touch her if she’d only _hold out her hand_.

_Because Ava should be here. But she’s not._

The young protagonist of the film leans down, a curtain of dirty blonde hair framing her face, red lips tenderly pressing into the lips of the boy she likes—the act alone breathing life and color back into his grey face. Morgan’s eyes instinctively snap to Nayzak, whose teeth sink into her trembling bottom lip as she follows the actors onscreen.

Her breath hitches. It’s so quiet that a human wouldn’t have heard it over the swelling of the music on the television. But not to a vampire. Morgan isn’t even listening to the movie, letting the steadiness of Nayzak’s breathing wrap around her—spreading it all over her mind like a salve—trying to put the poisonous thoughts to rest.

Of course, she knows Ava doesn’t mean what she says. She’s known her long enough to see this for what it is. Does that make what she’s doing to Nayzak any better, though? Does it make it fair? That Morgan is the one that sits with her, sharing in her silence, breathing in her scent, eating up every word that slips through her lips. That Morgan has to ignore the way the tar spread between them on the sofa is seeping between her fingers, burning her skin. That she continues to count the number of times those lashes go up and down—that she’s devastated when she loses count.

Crossing that ocean is deliberate. It’s heavy. It takes all of Morgan’s strength. She feels the sofa sink and shift beneath her as she closes the distance, leaving just inches between them. She wonders if Nayzak can feel it, too—the magnetic pull between their bodies that sends an icy wave through the hairs on her arm.

Nayzak’s eyes move barely a millimeter to acknowledge Morgan’s presence, before returning to the climactic action sequence of the movie. The triumphant orchestral score has gotten loud, but not so loud that Morgan can’t hear her own heart slamming into her ribcage. Whether it is a conscious action or not, Nayzak’s hand drops from her lap and curls into the cushion, filling the space between them.

Morgan stares at it for a moment, her own hand turning to stone as she conjures up the will to move it. She manages to push it as a boulder off the ledge, her fingers gliding over Nayzak’s before her pinky wraps around the human’s. She tears her eyes away, back to the movie. She can feel Nayzak’s gaze like a ray of warmth against her frozen limbs. Nayzak’s hand twitches— _barely_ —but it doesn’t move.

And for the first time—that hummingbird heart flutters for Morgan.


End file.
